A Dog Nammed Homer

Homer has come for a visit. He is a very well traveled dog. Born in Mexico, he is also bilingual.

His original owner is Anamaria, from Guadalajara. His secondary owner is our friend, John. Anamaria and John are currently on an Alaskan
cruise to (possibly) get married. That is a very long OTHER story.

Long ago, B.D. (before Daphne), Dennis raised and trained and judged dogs. These were hunting dogs. The dog training part is something I've
always admired about Dennis because it (and some people would be appalled by this, I'm sure) so closely aligns with training students.

The key here is CONSISTENCY, being proactive, and being able to
understand and communicate without too many words.

Anway, Homer is a very quiet, polite, old man puppy. That means even
though he is about two years old in people time, he looks like a puppy
with an old man's face. He has a less than wonderful habit that Dennis,
on the sneak, is trying to 'amend' before we return Homer to his true
'parents'. Homer enjoys insanely barking at arrivals. His original
owner considered it a 'greeting', but I'm sure there are more polite
ways to say, "Glad you're here." I'm thinking . . . smiling quietly . .
. wagging one's stub of a tail . . . trotting pertly back to one's
'casa' (which is what Homer knows as any towel, rug, or his bed.)

Our house is becoming Homer-friendly. A fireplace screen is a nighttime
barricade. Japanese lanterns stay lit all night out on the deck so he
can sneak out to do nighttime activities if he is so inclined. A
sheepskin seat cover has been converted into a travel bed on the back
seat of the car. We went to the pet store and spent a billion dollars
on a special poop bag attachment for the leash, a marvelous coat and
mustache brush, herbal shampoo, and tasty training treats. We didn't
quite get the bath part right, though, so stopped in for a quick
professional bath yesterday when he about stunk us out of the car.
(Homer needed the bath, not us, or the car.)

All people should have dogs before they have children. It's a marvelous
way to discover that another being takes more than just a little
personal time. At least you can put a dog out on the deck at night.
Doing that with a new baby would most likely be frowned upon. Also, if
it looks like a dog is too much work, you can just give it away. Try
that with a baby and you're looking at serious charges. (Unless, of
course, you live in Italy. My sister-in-law's parents gave Graciella
away. Not because she was a naughty girl. I think it had to do with the
female problems of an auntie who wanted children.)

I, of course, wash my hands every time I touch Homer. I can't help it.
Love to pat him, give him doggy massage, 'good boys' and all that, but
then it's off to soap and paper towels for me. And hand sanitizer.
Chances are I won't catch a cold in the next two weeks, or however long
Homer is staying.

And that's another thing. We aren't exactly sure when his folks are
returning. Homer does have an extensive network of surrogate parents,
though, all members of the "Boys' Night Out" club that meets every
Wednesday, usually at John's house. Any one of them, at the drop of a
dog biscuit, would most likely take Homer off to new adventures. Since
he's been out to Burns a few times already, and thoroughly enjoys his
role as Head of Ranch Security (even though he's read NONE of the
books) it looks like we'll saddle him up and head out that way later in
the week with our trusty steed, Subaru.

Meanwhile, our lives ring with commands like: "A tu casa" "Sietete"
"Abajo" and "Wait" "Stay" "OK" "Sit" and only twice: "Homer, knock it
off! It's time for BED!"

Ah, it's a dog's life!

But, you know that already....

Daphne